


Something Like Afterglow

by BayCityBomber



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Clint goes to Asgard, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 03:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BayCityBomber/pseuds/BayCityBomber
Summary: Loki has harmed Clint. By Asgardian law, it is now Thor's duty to undo that harm.





	Something Like Afterglow

Thor comes to him shortly after the battle is over. There's still cleanup left to do, missing people to be found, chaos to be sorted out, injuries to be threated, and dead to be buried, but he comes to him nevertheless and kneels. 

The offer is simple: a winter spent in Asgard. As Loki has harmed Clint, by Asgardian law it is now Thor's duty to undo that harm. Thor offers him a chance to heal, talks in great detail about cures and rituals and the strength of the soul.

Clint refuses, of course. He doesn't want anything to do with Loki, not even his memory.

He goes back to the battlefield whenever he is needed and fights, and whenever he's not fighting he's training with Nat or Steve or alone at 2am when everyone else has gone to bed, night after night.

The team is getting ready for dinner in the Tower when Clint collapses. 

The doctors stick an IV in his arm and tell him he's getting nailed to the hospital bed until he catches up with all the sleep he wasn't getting in the past few weeks.

Thor comes by the next day and makes his offer again. Clint nods curtly, shivering, and pretends to go back to sleep.

*

Asgard is grandiose in ways that are hard to take in at first. The golden light dancing along the monumental buildings does not paint the kind of cold, dark shadows along the streets that Clint expected to see. The mild autumn breeze twirls his hair and caresses his bare shoulders, easing some bone-deep chill inside him that Clint wasn't aware of before.  

Thor guides him to what he calls Clint's new quarters. The room is fairly small but homely enough, a modest fire dancing in the fireplace, its warm light throwing shadows across thick furs on the bed and a well-stocked writing desk near the window.

New clothes and new weapons are waiting for Clint on his bed, something to help him fit in with the Asgardian crowd. His fingers trace along the thin purple lining that runs along the hem of the dark leather armor. He huffs and starts to strip, a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth.

*

There's a small feast close by that Thor invited him to just before they parted ways. It's undoubtedly nothing fancy by Asgardian standards but there are still two dozen warriors sitting around the room when Clint enters, their clothes like that of (Loki) Thor, their weapons at the ready even in peace. Clint is on the verge of turning around and hightailing it out of there when Thor notices him; his eyes light up and he motions for him to sit on his right. Clint reaches up to touch the ornate leather armor covering his chest, not for the first time questioning his sanity. 

Only a few of the other Asgardians pay him mind, looking at him for a moment before going back to their food. Thor and the others talk about successful hunts and the beasts that roam the wilds of the Nine Realms until Clint forgets to fidget, too busy paying attention to the tales. Thor keeps passing him some kind of liquor that tastes like a mix of herbs and expensive beer, offering it with such a friendly grin Clint doesn't have the heart to refuse. He's vaguely aware that no one else reaches for that particular jug all evening.

By the time the feast is over and they take their leave, the streets are almost deserted, the chilly night air nipping at Clint's exposed arms. He and Thor talk quietly, ready to discuss the less glorious aspects of the war now that the crowd is out of earshot. Thor asks one question after another, fixating on minute details, details about the battle, about the loss of control, about Clint, about Loki. None of it makes any sense to Clint. His insides are all twisted up by the time they're done talking, his temperature up like he's running a fever. 

His quarters are pleasantly warm when they arrive, the fire still dancing along merrily, making Clint suspect magical assistance. It doesn't even cross his mind not to invite Thor in; the evening is not done, a strange sense of absence gnawing in his chest, like the tension of a crescendo that makes him breathless with anticipation. 

Thor appears vast in the small room, the warm glow that seems to surround him filling the space more so than his size. His friendly small talk chases some of the jitters away, lets Clint relax on his bed while Thor sits on the room's lone chair he dragged close by. The alcohol is a warm buzz in Clint's veins, the back of his mouth still tasting of lemon balm and something much sharper. The topic of conversation drifts from battles to Asgard, to the ways of the Aesir. Thor tells him of rituals and hunts and healing, the sublimity of it all. Clint listens mesmerized, something ancient whispering to the soldier, the warrior within him, his blood yearning for the rush of battle and the glory of victory like he has never yearned before. It's disorienting like strong mead, like magic, and Clint is dizzy with the images swimming in his mind.

Thor's hand is huge and soft on his face when he reaches down, warming Clint to his bones. Thirst bites at him, gnawing at his throat, and he tilts his head up, confused but desperate. With an indulgent smile, Thor leans down and kisses him softly, like a single drop of water on parched, begging lips.

Clint waits breathlessly, floating in the haze of alcohol and what cannot be anything but magic, his body humming and burning. He surges up with a throaty noise, desperate for more, but Thor places those huge hands on his shoulders to stop him gently, his smile apologetic.

Clint sleeps easier that night, Thor's presence still lingering with warmth long after he politely excused himself. His absence needles at Clint, a missing piece at the edge of his consciousness, but Clint promised him he would be patient and not let the side effects of the weird (definitely magical) liquor get the better of him. It's supposedly the first step of a drawn-out healing ritual Thor is planning to set up for him, something to chase away the cold and the nightmares and let him forget about the guilt eating away at his heart. 

The cold is gone all night, his mind floating in soft, easy drunkenness. His dreams are vivid but pleasant, swimming with images of glorious ancient battles to frenzied hunts to wild passion. He wakes with the rising sun, the sheets and furs of his bed surrounding him like a soft nest. Thor's voice sounds from outside his door, giving orders to his men, the noises of the stirring city filtering in through the walls. Clint smiles into his pillow, something like afterglow flowing through him. The effects of the liquor are gone but the relief remains, guilt and fear the farthest things from his mind. The handle finally moves, the door opening slowly. Thor's voice is louder now as he bids the others goodbye, and Clint, smiling, rises to greet him with a grateful kiss.


End file.
